


Künstlerroman

by NebulaViburnum



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, Pansexual Character, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-01-20 03:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulaViburnum/pseuds/NebulaViburnum
Summary: Darya didn't know what she signed up for when she decided to join Union. She only knew she wanted out of her crappy state in life and start anew. She didn't expect to feel the empathetic vibrations of people around her and that she possibly got to know more than she should. She also didn't think she would actually form a bond with the enigmatic and aloof Stefano Valentini. It was as if it was fate. Their contrasts only made them closer. And, Stefano never knew someone could understand things about him that he didn't plan on telling anyone. As Darya watches Union go through chaos and begins to help Sebastian there is only so much more she will find about STEM, Mobius and everyone she encountered.BOTH PRE-TEW2 and POST TEW2 so SPOILERS.(Former Plunged Consciousness)





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Into the Den of Beasts**

 

 

“Are you close to your parents?”

 

The question seemed to come across to her like a wave. She could either lie about it or she could tell the truth. She could be an exception. After all, every experiment needed its exceptions.

 

“I am.”

 

The interviewer looked at her without emotion as if assessing her ineligibility already. She decided not to squirm against her seat. She couldn’t show vulnerability that easily. She had decided this was the perfect step. Especially, after the rejection. She didn’t want to think about the other rejection that happened some months ago. How could she? She was still smarting from that wound all too well. She hadn’t entirely nursed it but she couldn’t truly claim the contrary either. There had been moments where she felt she held on too tightly. She shouldn’t have but she couldn’t help herself. After all, she thought she had it all together and that she hadn’t thought there would be something wrong. Though it all did fucking go wrong, didn’t it? Then her parents, well, _parent_ , was telling her that this wouldn’t have happened if she chose someone better and someone preferably — she didn’t wish to think about it now. All she knew she needed out of this life. She just needed to persevere elsewhere. Though it would definitely take her time and attention she just couldn’t stay still anymore.

 

Her depression had definitely taxed her and would still tax her. Though she was functioning well enough. She could have periods of anxieties and helplessness but she was meticulous enough to do the task at hand. And, the interview advertisement had specified on qualified personnel. She was qualified enough. She had already had the degrees to prove that. All she needed now was not a second or third opportunity — those have fallen flat on their faces and took her with her — but a _fourth_ possibility. The nth chapter in her life that had been pretty boring up to now. She had only had two relationships and she didn’t really have many friends. Most people ignored her. She could be sensitive and kind when was required and when it was not. That was not a saving grace. She was told by one therapist a long time ago that she was empathetic and that she usually understood many people better than they understood themselves. She always wanted to trash that analyses, _If I understood people that well, why the fuck do people abandon me all the time to my own devices? Want nothing of me? Want nothing to do with me?_ She felt like the story of Icarus but with the fable infringing on the territory of Prometheus. Death by fire — singed wings — water drowning the lungs. She was burned by the own fire that she stole and the fire of the sun. Though she wonder whom and what she had stolen from exactly.

 

She sighed. “We have had an argument.” That was the best way to phase it, be calm, “And, I have cut some ties with them. I told them I was moving and that I did not wish to be disturbed. They had accepted this with no malice. I think I have disappointed them. And, to be honest, I can’t care that much anymore. I wanted to apply here because I think I already spend much time in my head and the sort of job description that you people advertised suits me. It would be helpful for me as well, mentally and physically.” She didn’t add emotionally. That could a marker for further denial. She could not be lead down that road again.

 

There was a woman beside the interviewer. She seemed to be studying her facial features. It took some time to make her realise that she was the team’s psychologist. That she was analysing her for signs, triggers, ticks and any such deformities that would make her susceptible for disqualification. The word ‘disqualification’ was a guillotine segregated from some masses from others. She wanted to shiver (internally she did) at the mass of the word itself. It could subject to change but it could subjugate here as well. She was nervous. She knew her hands her sweaty. She hoped this would not make her seem furthermore a liability.

 

The woman seemed interested in her in a moment, “May I ask what was the argument was about?”

 

She sighed. “It’s somewhat personal…but…” she knew she couldn’t avoid it now that she brought it up, “My parents objected partly to a relationship I had and they couldn’t completely accept it. Well, one of them did but the other couldn’t. So, we have been a bit estranged for a longer time than this. When I told them not to interfere anymore in my life, a couple of times, they finally took the hint. I just want a new start as I mentioned.”

 

“Thank You.” The woman looked pleased.

 

There were some other questions the interviewer asked. Soon the session ended and she was told to leave, So, I failed… She wanted to cry. She just wanted this badly. She could feel her depression coming back, memories of former rejections, the preludes to this present. She hated this so much. Why was her Fate like this? Why was God always doing this? Surely, God couldn’t just abandon her like this all the time? She wanted to yell, scream, choke on tears and immolate in a fiery puddle of her own teary creation — Icarus, Prometheus and a bit of Poseidon all thrown together —

 

“Miss Seif.”

 

She looked up as the woman came forth. The woman had Asiatic origin. They both had fair enough skin. Though her hair had been coloured a bit with purple highlights and a red sort of mixed. Though she looked more tanned in front of this woman. The woman looked East Asian. She herself looked a bit of non-discernible race though someone would say she was Indian. She was not. She was of Persian-American heritage.

 

“You know. You aren’t completely an ideal candidate for this program.” She said this elegantly, without an ill-intent, “However, you do seem to have some markers we are interested in. Also, your areas of interest somewhat match with ours. We haven’t gotten many academics yet. It would be good to correspond with them. You seem to be trying to escape some past. And, you show signs of depression and insomnia. Slight dark circles in your eyes, skin discoloration to an extent,” The woman answered before she could say what was the tell-all to that, “Some good nutrition plan. Enough rest should clear those up. No one’s perfect but we want this program to reach a form of communal perfection. You have a nice demeanour. You seem amicable and able to get along with others. That is a marker we would need for community building. So, report to me on a bi-weekly basis — this is subject to change depending on your mental status and health — and be well coordinated and your slight probation can be lifted. We do think we will allow you to join us as soon as possible.”

 

She looked close to ecstatic. She smiled. She couldn’t contain herself. She almost half-hugged the lady who did seem a bit surprised but not alarmed. “Thank you so much!”

 

“Well,” the lady looked at her, “That is the sort of energy we could use.” She smiled, “By the way, I am Yukiko Hoffman. It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Seif.”

 

“You can call me Darya if you want.” She said it, after all, she would be meeting this woman bi-weekly, she could lose a bit of the formalities.

 

“Well, then Darya you can call me Yukiko.” She smiled again, “Welcome to Union and STEM.”

 

“Union?”

 

“Yes, the town that you will be residing is called Union. It is a very nicely designed town. There is a university there, Union Polytechnic. You can start as soon as you go in. Though it is very important to get oriented to Union first so the first two weeks there will be an orientation program and then you have necessary medicals twice in those two weeks. You are also meant to call the Union General if you feel any form of nausea and if you feel anything out of the ordinary.” She looked on gracefully as she explained everything with appropriate decorum, “You will happy to know that common contagions like the cold, flus and such don’t really exist in union. Your body will be kept in a stabilised space where we will be monitoring most of your vitals and anatomical structures. Also, if you have any previous illnesses we will look into them. We usually also help people reach their appropriate BMI if necessary.” Darya knew she was a bit chubby, though her frame was a bit muscular and not completely slender. A friend had once commented that she also had a good musculature for kicking ass. “Also, you have time to read your nondisclosure documents. You aren’t really allowed to share the STEM program with other people. Not anywhere. It is vital this is kept stabilised and within the people who are actively participating in the program.”

 

“When will you guys come to get me?” Darya nodded as she understood all of this. She had told the contractor of her apartment she would be leaving at the end of the month. Even if the Mu centres had not taken her she was planning on changing locations if not entirely leaving Krimson City. She had also put much of her personal effects in two large storage units that her parents had helped pay for. She had planning to leave this life and start somewhere new for some time now. ‘

 

“Well, when can you get sorted? We usually give some weeks prep. But it all depends on how you can manage.” Yukiko said with her professional air.

 

“I am more or less ready.” She admitted this, “I wasn’t planning on really living in the same place anywhere and was also about to leave Krimson City if necessary.” She explained. Over here honesty wouldn’t really work against her.

 

“Well then.” Yukiko smiled, “We will come and collect you at the end of the week.”

 

Darya was excited.

 

Thank God.

 

She was finally getting away.

 

From the previous rejections. She can start anew.

 

And it would work out. It was literally an escape from this reality and to a new life.

 

Things looked good.

* * *

 

 

When she woke up she was gasping for a bit.

 

It was like she was falling for a moment and couldn’t wake up. Though usually a standard reflex should get her up. She coughed a bit. The medical team had told her that this would be a common way some of the citizens of Union, well, would end up in Union. They said that because her consciousness would be tied to the STEM engine that she would not wake off from the feeling. She would slowly descend from the falling and then finally escalate her falling and then she would wake.

 

“It’s like a tempo.” A technician told her, “Don’t worry, I will soon experience the feeling myself. I am supposed to be recruited to be part of Union General. So, relax, know that this is normal.”

 

She had simply nodded. Though she was a bit nervous and scared she didn’t wish to show it so much.

 

They had shown her where she would be staying. It was a small house. She was impressed. She hadn’t lived in a house like that after she had started living on her own when she was 24 and then she was happy that she was able to experience a space to herself that was not her old apartment in Krimson City.

 

She was told she was given a computer with basic net coverage and that every Union Citizen had a cloud interface that they are meant to log into as soon as they awake. “There will be an access card in the drawer next to your bed.” The technician explained, “You are supposed to swipe it in your room — there is a card slide — just slide it and we know you are logged in. We have taken care of the basic amenities for you for two months. After that your work and all determines what you buy. We also got some clothes for you — some modelled after what you worn in reality and a few bonuses. We want Union Citizens to feel that they have come to a comforting and warm place. We want you to be also materialistically happy. So, you should start doing some research and work from home as soon as you are set up. You can also contact the university and set up a meeting for the next day or a day later. Oh yes, you are also supposed to maintain a journal for two weeks telling us how you feel and if you feel any blurring of vision, hyperventilation, nausea or anything of the sort. And, explore!” The technician smiled at this, “We have given most of our citizens sufficient funds as well for the first three months. You should explore the city and see what they have to offer. I can tell you we even have installed an art gallery in place, restaurants, cafes, small delis, everything! It will be fun! Like living your fullest.”

 

She had to smile too. All of that sounded really good to her.

 

She felt a bit dizzy but after shaking her head she felt perfect. There was a glass of lightly chilled water on her right and a lamp on. The curtains of her bedroom — well, this was her bedroom — were closed. She could see that sunlight was peering in. A small alarm clock, vintage styled, was saying 6’o clock. She sighed. The air felt fresh and crisp but not cold. The temperature in the room seemed up about right as well. She drank the water and felt refreshed. She then remembered the ID card and opened the drawer and there it was. She smiled and took it. It had her picture on it and her signature and her credentials and some of her other info.

 

Name: Darya Seif  
Age:31  
Blood Type: O+

Qualifications: Academic and Researcher at Union Polytechnic.  
Place of Residence: 27 Cedar Street.

 

She got up and saw she was wearing a light blue T-shirt with a Disney graphic on it. She had stated to the techs that she usually slept in loose baggy tees. They had simulated to her as much as possible. She went and swiped the card. The red flicker of light turned green. And her computer suddenly lit up as well. She walked over to it and it stated to log in to cloud and talk to a Mu representative and that her default password is in a drawer and that she could change it at any time. She switched it on and a representative came into text chat initially asking her basic questions about her health and what was she feeling. Then they had a voice chat and told her that was enough for today and that she had a medical check-up the next day. She nodded, an action she sometimes did though there was no one to see her with her answer. Just a habit.

 

She then decided to look at house and see the world outside. She opened the curtains and saw some people walking on the streets of Union. She also saw a café nearby and a coffee shop. She opened the window and the air outside was warm yet cool. The atmosphere was sunny, there was no haze and it didn’t burn or irritate the skin. She closed her eyes and breathed in. The air seemed clearer too. Though, it was all designed to simulate it as such.

 

She liked the feel of this sunlight on her skin. She decided to go and raid her closet and see what she could wear. Some of the clothes were damn awesome and they kept some of her style intact. She wore a green summer sweater and some dark jeans and an olive tee and decided to go outside. She saw by her bedside was also a brown wallet. There were instructions in the drawing about drawing from ATM machines, banks, and that her personal safe had some money. She was hyped. She couldn’t wait.

 

 

The shutter had been lit perfectly. One gloved hand on the button. The Veritas camera’s sliver parts shone in the crisp sun. The brown gloves fixed the lens — just perfect. Usually, in this perfect world he didn’t seem to catch moments like this. Everything was so sanitised. So, _perfect-_ like. Aside the usual decay in dustbins he hadn’t seen much of any natural deconstruction, decomposition or much destruction. And here he had thought this world would be a bit more interesting. What was the point of making a world too much like the reality outside? He couldn’t fathom it. Then again the neophytes who run the show were probably just creatures of comfort and dulled habits.

 

The bird had been chirping for a while. The birds here all chirp. They all seem to be in perfect harmony. Then this one flickered and bruised its wing. Blood spun out — a bit trickier as if it was not completely supposed to have bled and then fell down and stayed down. Bloody, gored up from the fall. It looked _beautiful_. Ah, such a welcome mess.

 

And all he had to do was press it and…he was…. then _she_ ran past...

 

He looked up and the woman seemed aware that she had ruined one of his shots. She had a bagel in one hand and coffee on the other. His eyebrow twitched. “I am really sorry!” she apologised. Half-mouth full of bagel and then actually started swallowing.

 

“Well, don’t ruin _this_ one.” He was a bit angered by the intrusion though he sounded calm. And there the photo was taken. When he looked up she was in front of him. “Yes?” he said a bit impatiently. He noticed she was not really thin as a model. She was chubby and had curves. She had a coloured sort of hair, burgundy, of flames of light amber and purple highlights.  The purple worked will with the deep amber of her hair. She had it up in a messy bun and was wearing casual clothes. A contrast to his elegant suit of dark grey with an ochre coloured scarf.

 

“I am sorry to have messed up one of your shots.” She looked apologetically at him, they were around the same height, only he seemed an inch or two taller. He had to admit she was tall if not slender. “I am new here.” She smiled and looked around, “Fascinating place, isn’t it?”

 

“I suppose it is.” He was now focusing the picture in his camera. He had noted she was not that elegant as the models he had once shot on his camera. She didn’t look plain though. She looked young and her face was an oval with a small yet slender noise and eyes that were almost black but glinted brown as her hair in the sun. She had a slender neck. Her lips looked naturally light pearl coloured and she had no makeup on. She also looked top-heavy. Something he wasn’t always sure if he liked about females. He noted the shadow in her eyes with some distaste. He wouldn’t call this woman conventionally beautiful. Yet, something about her was there that refrained him from calling her ugly. The word cute came forward. He did not completely like the word. It was too ordinary for his aesthetical tastes and a bit mundane at times.

 

“Wow, that bird looks messed up.” She saw his picture and looked at the corpse of the bird, it looked like a grey pigeon, “I wonder how that happened. It’s wing looks…God, that looks sad,”

 

 _Fool_ , he thought a bit, _it is a beauty you cannot comprehend_.

 

“I guess it does make a good enough photograph though.” She commented. “Are you a photographer?”

 

“Not only.” He answered, he wasn’t that interested for a conversation. Though aside going to the art gallery in the business district he did not have much to do.

 

“Oh, you do other things?”

 

“I work at the art gallery in the Business District.” He says this curtly.

 

“Wow, that’s awesome. One of the first people I met tend to be someone in somewhat from my field.” She looked excited, there was a flush and glow to her face that he suddenly got aware of, “My name is Darya Seif.” She held her hand forward, “What is yours?” She did it with her left hand as her right was still with a bagel and she tried to keep it safe with the coffee.

 

A gloved hand firmly caught hers, “I am Stefano Valentini.” He didn’t mind making introductions. After all, he was a charming personality. Even if he didn’t care much for her.

 

“Wait, are you Mr. Valentini? The ex-war photographer? Who had some exhibitions last year as well in Krimson City?”

 

“So, you have heard of me?” He seemed to smile now. His ego liked knowing someone who knew his name.

 

“Oh, yes I have heard of you and I have seen some of your war photographs.” Darya remembered reading an interview about him where — she looked at his lock of hair covering his right eye — or where his right eye was supposed to be. She had felt sad for him. It must be horrible to lose an eye like that. She had to admit he had courage to go out and cover wars like that. Yet, then he had stopped obviously after getting wounded and dabbled in the art world. He took photographs of models and they all looked stunning. Then she remembered one of his models, a name Emily, had been brutally murdered and he had said he was happy to have caught her essence. She smiled slightly recollecting what a nice thing it was to say. She also had to admit this man knew how to dress. And the ochre scarf looked well around him. She secretly looked at herself and realised she could probably not be as elegant as him. She sighed. She was such a geek and a casual person that she remembered her Mom telling her that she could a bit more classy and feminine but that hadn’t blossomed for her yet.

 

Stefano’s smiled dulled a bit when he realised she had mostly only seen him as a war photographer. “So,” He seemed ready to leave and Darya regretted a bit. It would be nice to talk to someone like him though she felt she wasn’t the type to really interest people. She wasn’t poised and elegant as him. She had obviously just taken up some of his time. “You are new? What do you do?”

 

“I am supposed to start working on the Union Polytechnic. Social Science research.”

 

“Oh, alright.” Stefano didn’t know if he should be wary of academics or wary of her. Some of them had vilified his work and made him look _untalented_. There was a flicker of rage when he thought of the scandals he had to face from those uncultured critiques. They were the untalented lot who could not at all comprehend anything beyond the limited comforts of everyday life. Now, he was looking at someone who he may grow to hate. Though as usual he was being charming. He could be elegant even with those he hated. That was his gift.

 

Darya noticed that there was flicker of anger — yes, it seemed to be anger — in his eye when she mentioned that she will work at the university. Then she recollected a woman named Susan Phi and a couple of others who had trashed Stefano’s exhibition. As Phi put it the assemblage of female sexual parts could have a purpose but Valentini seemed to only wished to shock and titillate. Another had commented that it was in poor taste and bordering on the misogynistic. She didn’t feel that Stefano was a misogynist though he could have misogynistic tendencies.  But she did feel that he probably didn’t understand women, or maybe even people. She wondered if his time as a war photographer had made him feel like life is only in fragments of conflicts and that nothing holistic was ever truly real. She also noticed he did not wish to know anything about her. She sighed internally, _Yup, Darya, a guy like this wouldn’t want to know you at all. I don’t think I would interest him. Though I wish I did_.

 

“I best get going.” After the small silence that followed Stefano seemed ready to leave. “You should come by the gallery at times. It could be refreshing.”

 

She nodded. “Yes, I hope I can visit there today or tomorrow.”

 

Stefano elegant waved goodbye and walked away. Darya started drinking her coffee and went home. She had remembered Stefano’s sculptures. She hadn’t completely liked them. Something about them didn’t seem right. It wasn’t only that he seemed to use the female body as an object but it was as if he was dehumanising the body in general _. I wonder if he feels ugly or dehumanised_ , she thought. Night came in the world of Union and she wore her light blue tee and decided to go to sleep. The concept of sleep here seemed to be a bit antithetical to her. After all, weren’t they already somewhat asleep? Though she wondered how this world functioned. It was run by computers but she did not understand how it was able to incorporate so many people into it and fit so many personalities like puzzle pieces.

 

She went to sleep. It was some moments in that she felt a small tear on her face. It felt like a tear. A droplet. She woke up in a dark place but feeling slightly outlined was her body. There was a girl crying in some corner: “I feel a bit lost.” She said.

 

She walked up to her, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t find my house.”

 

“Where do you live?”

 

“Around here.”

 

Suddenly Darya saw a house. “Uh, is it that house?”

 

“Yes, that’s the one.” The little girl seemed happy, “I can go and sleep and then see Mom!” She grabbed Darya’s hand and took her there.

 

“Wait, I shouldn’t intrude…” but suddenly the house was right in front of her and she was opening the door for the little girl. The house was quiet. There was only the sound of clocks.

 

“I am going to go to sleep now.” The girl with the greenish-blue yes looked at her happily, “I am going to wait for my Mom. She will come back soon.” Then she smiled, “I am Lily. What is your name?”

 

“I am Darya.”

 

“That’s a nice name.” Lily smiled and then ran upstairs. Darya didn’t know why but she felt like she was walking in the streets of Union then actually sleeping. _This is strange, this seems odd, what is going on?_ She went outside and suddenly she felt the ground give way and she was falling. Then she stopped but could hear humming and wires. She wasn’t sure what all this meant. Then she saw a large chamber. A metallic chamber. It had the name “core” written on it and the name “Lily Castellanos.” _Isn’t Lily that girl’s name? What is this?_

 

She then a saw a weird image. The girl covered inside the metallic chamber sleeping and wires going out from her. She seemed to be asleep but at the same time not. And she could hear random conversations, “The core seemed stabilised…It seemed she got off her pathway and ended in the gaps of the communicating data feed, Everything in Union seemed stable at the time too.” Another voice, “Myra Hanson has been called to go in and comfort her daughter; she seemed to been having a bad dream.” Someone called out a question, “I almost thought I read someone else with Lily. Though it could be just an error.”

 

Darya started to feel cold as though she was in some laboratory and coolants were working in full-force. And then suddenly she felt heat and then she awoke with a start and almost leapt from her bed. She was covered in sweat. “What…” it was around four o’clock in the morning, the clock read, “What was going on? What was all that?”  
  
She huddled into herself. Her feet propped up. Darya was hugging her knees as she could cicadas chirping in the night and the temperature be as warm and cool as it could be. _What have I gotten myself into?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well more on Stefano on the next chapter! I wanted to capture him a bit before he started doing chaos in Union and wanted him to actually get some bearing with my OC. I will tell some stuff about Darya and what her issues are and stuff. Also more of the other canon characters as well. I guess I will chart some aspects on life in Union so that it actually feels like the world STEM built before it crashed down.


	2. Chords For The Tortured Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a serving of Stefano =)

 

**Chords For The Tortured Artist**

 

She blinked when she looked at him. She hadn’t seen him like this. Not that she didn’t know he would be like this.

 

The purple jacket with its square geometrical shapes, the white shirt inside with its diamond cuts-outs elegantly suited with the woven fabric of the red scarf around his neck. The purple suit pants, the brown shoes and the invisible socks you couldn’t see but probably he was wearing. His hair covering his eye and his face as beautiful as it was. His icy yet sharp eyes; like lens in themselves. Well, one of his eyes was truly something occultish as though some gothic fiction popped up on an old plate and plastered itself on his skin. The veins throbbed around there with blood and tissue colour akin to the purplish-blue eye.  She was a bit stunned and didn’t do what to do. Darya had always known something was off about Stefano Valentini. She knew it. He knew she knew it. Now, with the world breaking apart — would he _kill_ her? Cut her up, dice her as an _art piece_ (as he could crudely call it)? She had known he was talented. That his concepts were pretty sophisticated. Yet, was death truly the price to pay for that sophistication? She didn’t believe death was the only way!

 

Darya saw how he was moving _really_ fast. Like he warping space and time inside Union. And, he could fucking teleport! What was happening? Darya sighed. What was Stefano going to do now? She has finally been found by him. She didn’t know if she would cry, try to punch him, be _relieved_ …?

 

“There you are…” he said this silkily, almost like a whisper; it was seductive…she somewhat anticipated this. And in a blink of an eye he was right in front her and surrounded by blue translucence, powdery as though it was Union’s cosmic dust. “Darya.”

 

She took a step back, “Stefano.” She acknowledged.

 

She wondered if she should run for it. If she distracted him long enough. She didn’t know if she could really outrun his teleportation unless she hid again.

 

Stefano looked at her, he seemed to be surveying her. He did at times though and it still had his tenderness. “Darya, you look… _uncorrupted_.” Then he actually smiled, “I am glad.” She saw him look at her with something akin to relief. Was it because he could make her an installation piece himself? She wouldn’t know what was worse — becoming one of those monsters or dying by Stefano’s blade and being _changed_ into _art_. Though she somehow felt he wouldn’t easily do that. There was a chance she was wrong. After all, she saw what he did to some of the people in Union. They were people that he may not have interacted with, some he did and he had also mutilated many of the women. Some of them were naked. She was wondering why the males weren’t but then she felt he was not that interested to do that yet or she hadn’t found the pieces for it.

 

“Listen, Stefano…” she started carefully, “You can either stop this or I am leaving. I wanna get out of here. This place is falling apart. I…don’t wanna die here.” She stressed on the last part very clearly, “And, I am not…” she angrily glared, “Being turned into _art_ or whatever the fuck you want to call it!”  

 

She took more steps backwards and saw he didn’t move along with her. This was unpredictable. Then he started slowly walking towards her, “Now Darya.” Stefano smiled, “Why would you wish to leave? I am becoming the artist I was destined to be. Do you not wish to see it? The apotheosis of my aesthetics? The zenith of my desires being rolled out? Surely, a researcher and academic as yourself would wish to see the birth and progress of an artist?”

 

She couldn’t reply to that momentarily. Was this all he thought? “Stefano…why are you killing all these people? Why make art like this? It doesn’t matter.”

 

He cringed, “It matters to me Darya. You know that.”

 

“But does art have to be death!?” she questioned as she also started going backwards as he was walking forwards, “I mean. Art is supposed to have meaning and make people happy!” She knew probably useless talking to him like this. He was hell-bent on doing this…if only he would listen to her. He was talented and he did have some great ideas. What did it have to be this way?

“Do war photographs make people happy on default, Darya?”

 

That was good question, “Sometimes, they have meaning…” she looked down for a moment and then she realised she was nearing a wall and he was catching up to her and she looked left and right and then in front and he was in front of her. His knife was still by his side, “Stefano…are you going to kill me?” She asked this when a moment passed when they stared at each other.

He sighed looked up and closed his eyes moved his neck. Then looked at her and smiled, “No.” Then inched closer to her face making her gasp a bit, panic flooding through her despite his answer, “Darya.” Then he slowly touched her face as she looked at him, “Darya, you are an academic. It is your job to showcase an artist. Come with me. See what wonders I can do.”

 

“No.” she firmly stated and pushed him, “Stefano what you are doing is wrong?!” she actually felt miserable, “You are so talented! Why does it have to be like this!? You don’t have to do this!” Even if she felt she was fighting a losing battle she just wanted to speak to him. Stefano and she…she didn’t know what they had but they had _something_.

 

“So, if you don’t go with me you may end up dead.” Stefano quietly spoke. The smiled, “After all with all these monsters around wouldn’t it better and safer to be with me?”

 

“You are the one who is killing everyone!” She actually was angry with him now.

 

“That’s not true. There are the monsters. I am making _art_. Don’t equate me with the weaklings who lost their minds.” Stefano walked towards her and slowly put a hand on her shoulder. “Darya.” The way he said her name, so softly and carefully, like he was picking up one of his prized photographs, “I don’t wish to lose you.”

 

“I don’t want to be here.” She said this with firmness and started running, “Stay away from me Stefano!” she skidded across the halls. Sher braved it and she could hear him teleporting behind her. At one point, he grabbed her — panicked she quickly pushed him off before he could get a firmer hold. “I am serious! What you are doing, it’s not art!” He looked mad at this and actually ran after her, “I can’t be a part of it!”

 

“You shall Darya!” Stefano screamed, “I am an artist and this world will hold on my art! You can’t turn away from me! You will encounter my art everywhere and every inch of this world will be decorated with it! It will be a masterpiece for you to record!”

 

Darya just wanted to get away.

 

And then she heard the cackling and as she turned the corner she saw the Laughing Women with three heads like some deformed Cerberus. Darya just looked at them in shocked but skidded past them. “You know I can have my Guardian chase you! And Get you back Sweet Darya!” Then the voices of the Guardian were right behind and she started screaming as she looked back and then didn’t and she pushed through, “Don’t worry Darya! I won’t make her cut you up! You can come back now!” But she kept on pushing. “Darya! Run away now! I will find you! Do not worry! I am not going to let anything happen to you!” She wanted to cringe. She was scared. Stefano actually made that grotesque creature? What was _wrong_ with him? Why was he doing this? The problem was the care in his voice was genuine enough. She knew he cared about her. He was also doing all of these nasty, gruesome things as well. She didn’t understand why he was doing all of this. It was a desecration of his talent. _Why be a cheap murderer Stefano when you can be truly an artist?_  And then she banged open some doors and the Laughing Women weren’t laughing but she was falling.

 

Right back to Union. No longer in one of Stefano’s dimensional rifts. She could hear some monsters nearby.

 

She got. Her arm was a bit bruised but she didn’t care as she was so out of breath and she got into the nearest house. She closed the lights on the entrance and locked the door. She then fell down and huddled up and crying. She could hear the monsters outside.

Union had started its perpetual night.

 

* * *

 

“Mr Valentini, what made you choose your career as a war photographer?”

 

The question had not been recently asked of him. That was another life, another lifetime ago — still close to his heels. He smiled at the interviewer, “Well, I wanted to capture the side of humanity most people don’t usually consider. I wanted to experience as much as possible what emotions humans engaged in in such adverse and dangerous conditions.” Then he closed his eyes, even though he only had one eye he still had two eyelids, they closed in equal stance with the other, a ghost that remained, “It was an enlightening experience.”

 

What he spoke was the truth.

 

A long time ago he had chosen to cover wars or any conflict because he wanted to understand people better. What led them to such struggles and despondence? What did they find out there amongst all the blood, bodies, gore and precarious livelihood? Well, now he knew better. He had found such a well-defined answer. When he was younger all of this strife and misery didn’t always appeal to him. Wars did not innately appeal to him. Only frames involved in the war, that he could record, appealed to him. Even now. Wars intrinsically were not art. It was the situations in it, which he captured, that made sense to him. His understanding has changed and now he could see that _death_ , in all its multiplicity, was the true answer. When people die they could become _art_. Where war would only destroy death was not destructive. Death was the stone that recorded the essence. However, those neophytes couldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand. They were quite stupid.

 

What was it that Phi woman had said about his art? Only to _titillate_? Please. What an offense! How can mere titillation come from death the way _he_ captured it? Death was in so many ways in his art. And yet none of those women or men could understand it. He found women a bit strange towards him. Sometimes, they would be charmed by him. Other times they would say he was too intense and walk away. Well, it was not that he really talked to them much. Most of his recent ex- girlfriends had been people he was attracted to. Couldn’t say he _loved_ them. Because he only loved his art and they weren’t art to be loved. Nor were they interesting to him beyond a point. They were beautiful women though.

 

“What do you think of your work now? Do you think you can change it?”

 

“Why would I change it?”

 

“Well…” the interviewer was quiet a bit, “Your recent critics on your art exhibitions have been less than favourable.”

 

“Well, art is meant to be subjective. Art is in the eye of the beholder.” Stefano almost snorted this answer. He was enraged inwardly that this interviewer had the gall to suggest he change his tunes. What was he? Some hackneyed dilettante? “I believe if you have no critics you can’t be an artist. Criticism is the placeholder of great artists. Van Gogh was considered an eccentric; Michelangelo was obviously not ease of temperament.” He smiled, inside was a rage for the question, but Stefano, being in war had learned to keep his serenity, after all steady hands in the combat zone captured the best photographs, “We can only say the idiot has no critic, yes?”

 

The interviewer, a young woman, smiled. She had to admit that Stefano was elegant and charming. He was wearing a beige suit, with a vest and a light purple, tinged with red, scarf. She had been interviewing many people in the Mu centre but not all of them had the poise and sophistication of Stefano Valentini. “Well, yes I can partly agree with that.” They both shared a laugh. There was still something about his answer that she read, as aggressive, perhaps he was eccentric too. “Does it dissatisfy you?” she started, “You know photographing fashion models now? I mean the fashion industry and war zone are two different centres of recording.”

 

“No. Not really.” Stefano smiled, “The fashion industry I can say is another kind of war zone, if I may say without offense. People love to generate conflict even in the epicentres of aesthetics. We want to build a base of opportunity and challenge.” Stefano talked about different models he worked with. Their strengths, their weaknesses. He captured mostly female models but had worked with also male ones. “There was one small arts model called Leslie, I had to admit he had some platinum hair. He said it was natural and it complimented his skin and his eyes.”

 

“This may be a bit of a tough question. However, I need to ask it.” The interviewer started carefully, “Can you tell us how you feel and felt about Emily Lewis?”

 

Stefano smiled, with some sadness, not truly manufactured. After all she was one of his art pieces, there is sentimentality there. “Ah, yes, Emily. Vibrant, young and promising. It really struck me that she is gone. Sometimes, I think of her fondly. We have had a good relationship. It is a shame that we couldn’t continue it.” _Well, not that I really wanted to after I knew…what is the promise of being a model? Nothing. She is art now. Models are just there. Art is remembered_. Stefano thought about it and smiled fondly.  

 

The interviewer noted, with some clarity, that Stefano had not used the word: _murdered_. Later on, in the screening it would be neglected a bit. Though semantics are a good indication to a lot of things, “Can you tell me a bit more about her?” then with a candid yet cautious smile, “Were you two involved in a relationship?”

 

“Emily was driven and I really liked that about her. I liked that she was passionate about becoming a model.” Then Stefano chuckled a bit, “About us being involved, not completely. I had had the pleasure of taking her to a few drinks at times and some dinner dates. We did like each other a bit but let’s just say we worked better professionally. I wasn’t interested to pursue a romantic relationship with her.” _I don’t think I can date an art piece, I am an artist not a freak_. “I feel it is a personal tragedy.” He looks away for a moment, “I left the wars behind and then this happened. To someone I knew well enough.” He looks at the interviewer, “It just made me realise that death is all around us. But…I only thought that a terrible way to die is left in wars. Emily’s death made me realise that terrible things can happen out of the warzone as well.”

 

“Yes. I am sorry for your loss.” The interviewer regained some calm and continued, “What do you think your main work in STEM’s Union will be?”

 

“Well, my dear.” His flamboyant smirk ablaze, “Why I only wish to create art.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stefano woke up.

 

Every day he felt a surge of adrenalin meshed with the air he breathed in Union. Crisp and so full of vitalising energy. He knew that some road or some corner, some cul-de-sac or some building will hold an _encounter_. An encounter to make better pieces of art. He has “behaved” himself. Well, more or less. He wanted to know more about STEM and Union before he could actually make his masterpieces. He must be a dedicated artist and inventor who would study the brushes, paints, daubs and canvases that would soon help his name become immortalised. STEM was really something. He knew he did the right thing when he was told to interview at the Mu centres. After all, he was tired of seeing such uneducated criticisms of his art pieces in the paper. He wanted somewhere new. Also, he didn’t wish the legal brutes to catch up to him.

 

Stefano, shirtless and bare chested (wearing only pyjama bottoms), rose up from his silken sheets. They were a colour of purple. The pillows as well. His tanned yet wiry, muscled frame looked exquisite. He had some nice ridges on his hips. His was a sculpted body, more of an Adonis than a Herculine anatomy. He had vague imprint of abdominal muscles on his front, the midriff sides were well toned. Stefano had to be fit to keep with soldiers in the line of duty and battle. He was excellent in sprinting and covering from fire. Also, he had become quick in his way in manoeuvring places. All of these feats were written in the musculature of his body. That and he did visit the gym. His dark brown hair, the hint of dark wood burn, of chocolate under the molten dusk of the sun, complimented his skin with the lock that covered the eye that he had lost.

 

He looked to his side and smiled.

 

Nothing. Nobody. Yesterday, there had been a woman. Not that they were really dating. She had been flirtatious with him and he had taken some interest in it. Despite his dedication to his work as an artist he did not always forget that he was human. That he did have sexual desires. She had been excellent in bed and then she had left. She had wanted to keep in contact and he had not declined. She wasn’t suitable for an art piece though. She was elegant but she was also a bit different from the women he usually dated. She was probably the wife of one of the wealthier people in Union who was a bit bored by all the _perfection_ around them. It was this thing he found attractive about her. Not that she was completely dissatisfied with Union but she did want some of its sappiness undone with some fun on the side. And, he didn’t mind. After all, he was “behaving” a bit. Well, he was playing by some of the rules. His art pieces were not as avant garde as his pieces outside but they captured what he needed. Closeups of dead mouths and eyes — to the unknown audience they were not of the dead but just photographs — were displayed in the art gallery in Union. He had also done some pieces of naked men and women covered in waves of bloody water. Union people had had mixed reactions but not really negative. After all, they were neophytes too and couldn’t completely comprehend much.

 

Stefano got up and slipped off his pyjama bottoms and went straight to the shower.

 

He had kept the bathroom door open. From the ajar door he could see, as he welcomed the cool water, the picture of the dead bird. He had wanted to enjoy it for himself. He didn’t take it to the gallery because he didn’t want to look too intense to the neophytes. After all, a reoccurring theme of death would not appeal to the masses. He knew this all too well. He put soap on his body and smiled. That picture truly was a good day. It made the promise of Union drip from the blood of the carcass of the bird. As though providing him paint for what he so desired.

 

A flash.

 

 _Her_.

 

Oh yes. The weird, shabby looking young woman. She wasn’t unattractive. She was — that annoying word again — _cute_. Well, she had a shade of beauty to her. Just a bit, well, unconventionally bodied. She wasn’t think nor was she as elegant as the models he had photographed. She had been annoying. Ruining the first shot. She did say his piece was interesting though. And, she had known him.

 

What was her name again?

 

Seif? He couldn’t completely remember. Not that it really mattered.

 

He continued to enjoy his shower. Feel the water touch his form, his angles and muscles and slight masculine curves of hips and chest. His limbs with their wiry strength, glistened with the water.

 

He sniffed the air.

 

Crisp with the icy cool nature. Ripe with possibility that he cut and taste on his teeth.

 

Beautiful.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Stefano and Darya will interact more. Yeah, Darya isn't going to magically stop Stefano from doing stuff he did in TEW2. It wouldn;t be TEW2 without Stefano losing it. I wanna respect that and it makes sense for the story and Darya's progress as well. I hope you guys are enjoying it so far =)


	3. Conversational Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter =D

 

 

**Conversational Research**

 

 

She woke up before the alarm.

 

Outside, the sun tilted through like an uncaged disc. She could smell the warmth and wondered how they could get the sensory feed so clearly. The temperature was just right again. Humidity was at a low. She had gone to her get her medical test and they had said she was functioning at one of the best rates. “One of the best Unions to start at Union is to embrace Union.” The medical technician explained to her, it was the same one from before. He had come to Union before on some preliminary tests and had been “interning” basically and finally was settled in. They needed competent staff. And, he signified competence. Darya wondered what she would signify? After all, she wasn’t that confident in herself.

 

After what happened to her last year she was not sure if she could be confident. Yet, she tried because she wasn’t an adolescent anymore. She didn’t think her own inadequacies would be taken lightly by people anymore. Society ran on efficiencies. Though, she was sure everyone around was inadequate in some way. Truth was as you got older you got better at hiding it. She knew there were some things only she could do.

She better get on doing them. “You know the more you feel home at this place,” The medical technician kept on saying pleasantly as he took her blood and finished reading her blood pressure, “The more at home your body will feel. If you keep on thinking about what you have left behind or the outside world too much you may always feel out of place in Union.” She didn’t know if that was completely a good thing. Should she forget everything? Wasn’t some of it responsible for bringing her here? Then again, she didn’t want to have an existential discussion with the medical technician. It is not like she didn’t like him but she was not completely in the right mood.

 

The dream yesterday, or whatever the hell it was, made her uncomfortable and she did not if it was a good idea to record it. Though she wondered if Yukiko Hoffman could smell she was lying or would be able to understand that she experienced something that didn’t seem completely like a dream. Then she realised she wasn’t entirely accustomed to STEM so it could have been a glitch and they themselves would better forget about it. In the journal, they were supposed to write she just wrote that she awoke in a blank space like pitch night and that she felt as though she was swimming out somewhere. That was partly the truth.

When the discussion came up with Yukiko Hoffman she was able to be pretty normal about it, “Don’t worry. Your body is still adjusting to Union.” Yukiko smiled, “You are getting able and competent at it at a fast rate. But I will note down the anomaly.”

 

The word anomaly sounded somewhat scary to her, “Don’t worry. People so experience the dark spaces at times.” Yukiko explained, her micro expressions or even macro ones must have given her fear away, “It is good to document these changes so in the future we will be able to better care for you and care for others.” Then she looked at the charts, “Darya, your health is in good shape. The technician tells me you are adapting very well. Maybe _too_ well.” She winked. Darya knew that was not fully a compliment. Yukiko was taking a large interest in her fast adaptation. “It’s not as rapid as others. In fact, it rises like a nice asymptote curve. That curving is pretty, well, I don’t think I have noticed it in much places. It is a nice phenomenon.” Darya was happy, if she was a bit different it helped her eligibility. She took this as a form of compliment though she was careful. Too much of idiosyncrasy, even in this society that seemed to be built on loners and outcasts, was a bad sign. After all, they were trying to make a form of conformity. She didn’t know how she completely felt about that. She didn’t object because she wondered if that what she needed? Then again, she questioned it. Hopefully, academia will be a site of much experimental and free speech with respect and minus extreme hatred.

 

“Anything else?”

 

She was brought out of her reverie by Yukiko, “Uh, no. Sorry, just getting used to things.”

 

“That’s understandable. And normal.” Yukiko leaned in a friendly fashion, “You are doing great Darya. Don’t worry too much.”

 

She smiled and nodded.

* * *

 

“Wow, didn’t think there would be so much to do on the first assignment.”

 

Darya looked at the screen. It wasn’t that hectic but she was supposed to have typed interviews of four individuals when she came into the office — which she could come earlier as some of her medical and psych assessments had been done. The idea she got from this is the university was still understaffed. There could be a multitude of reasons for that. So, they wanted to some mini-exposés on the some of the creative people in the community. Union had its creative citizens, some better known than others, some coming up on the ladder. This interview wasn’t for novices. It was some figures already established on the outside.

 

 _Maybe, they think this is a good way to reorient people that they are not alienated_ , Darya thought it was a good tactic. She used the word “tactic.” Something about the assignment made her nervous. Couldn’t understand what but she felt it. It was a feeling that…she wondered if this was also a screen, a veneer to not let anyone feel like they can leave or have to. The thought made her shiver. _Well, you don’t want to leave, so there is so many reasons others wouldn’t want to as well. Don’t be pessimistic. You came here to start a new life. Try to stay positive._

 

She looked at the list and one of the names made her chuckle. That person pretty much reinstated some of the pessimism. She heard of her before in a poetry gig at a café. There was Luca Capello, she didn’t know him that well but he was a novelist and essayist, then there was the author Shoma Khwaja, the clay artist and pottery maker Francis Dandy and the artist, one time war photographer, Stefano Valentini. She had to smile. She had liked few of Stefano’s war photographs and she did like meeting him the other day. Though, he had this aloof ambience. Darya knew that Stefano wasn’t really that impressed with her, _I don’t know if I should be annoyed or just accepting of that. I mean I am not bad. And Stefano is not Picasso._

 

She chuckled at the last statement. Something told her that Stefano would get mad hearing that coming from her or anyone. _Besides, I am new. And we can’t all be that polished like Valentini. She chuckled some more, But, he does have a great sense of style though_.

 

She decided to go and talk to Luca Capello first.

 

Capello was at home, a house which almost look like mansion with its size and its elegant. _It wasn’t completely larger than the other houses but it was in its finesse formidable. Well, you can’t completely escape some form of classism. Not even here._

 

“Ah, Darya Seif, from the university?”  Luca offered her tea and small cakes, “I been informed you would come to see me.”

 

“Yes. Nice to meet you Mr. Capello.”

 

“It’s alright call me Luca. So, are you familiar with my work?”

 

“I read some of your essays.” Darya confessed.

 

Luca Capello was a forty-five-year-old unmarried bachelor. He didn’t seem to have any close relatives or children. Last Darya heard he had a long relationship with an actress for twelve years which broke apart. Luca had then succumbed to mid-life crisis and dated a younger woman. It turned out to disastrous. He was at that time forty-one and the young woman was twenty-two. He was the one who called it off. He wanted to be back with his former girlfriend, the actress, but she had married one of Luca’s contemporaries. It didn’t seem out of vengeance or veiled competition. They had both been in bad relationships and decided to settle down. Luca had gotten into a fight with that contemporary though in public and had severed some of the ties. Until, Darya had read last year, had met his once ex and the man in their house and made reconciliations. He had dark brown hair with some ash strands, silver eyes with flecks of whitish blue around some places near his pupils and a lead body. Capello was born and raised some parts of his life in Italy but then lived in America.

 

“Well, right now I am writing a few myself on Union. I am being paid of course but I have my freedoms to express myself. I like Union. It’s small. I mean it is small now and that is what I like about it. There aren’t many unpleasant people around. They do a lot of screening to see who can and cannot stay in Union.”

 

“Yes, we are also products of that screening.” Darya and Luca shared a smile, “So what are the essays primarily about? Life in Union?”

 

“Yes, and its environments. It also has a wild life park you know. Still being under works.”

 

“I didn’t know that.” Darya was genuinely surprised, “That sounds amazing. Are they going to use animal brains around?”

 

“That is a question I want to ask and see what the readers would like to say. They can always make faux animals to go around but you know we are already in a kind of virtual peak. So, some people may really ask for the animal brains being tied to STEM.” Luca explored the answer carefully.

 

“Uh, would that be beneficial to animals though?” Darya asked, “We have our own society and they have their own. I guess we have to look for benefits.”

 

“Endangered animals can flourish here don’t you think? No poachers, they can have their society and most predominantly their safety.” Luca explained.

 

“I understand but what about procreation?” Darya asked on a whim, “I mean the path of making species feel less endangered is to repopulate them, right? But STEM is a virtual space. How can you repopulate a population here? Wouldn’t that seem a bit antithetical to the act of saving endangered species?”

 

“That is a good question.” Luca became reflective then lit up, “I suppose I should add that in my essay. Thanks for that nugget of convo. Well, I suppose that the Mu centres would breed them in cages and then plug their minds, as ours, to STEM.”

 

Darya didn’t know if that fair or even just. Other species didn’t voluntarily sign up for Mu Centres. This pretty much went against basic conservation laws. Yet, she didn’t pursue the matter further for now. One good question arisen from this is the act of conceiving a baby. How would a couple adopt or have a baby in Union? That is a very physical act in the usual sense. Would be alright with artificial insemination? Wouldn’t that give the Mu Centres too much power over them? Or, were they okay with the Mu Centres handling this aspect of their lives? Would it mean pregnancy when I and we are prepared and no accidents? The situation felt a bit too ambiguous at best.

 

“That does seem like one route to populate the wild life.” Darya nodded and answered as she had her thoughts.

 

“So,” Luca seemed now focused on her, “Which one of my essays have you read?”

 

“Well,” she smiled, “I did take a lot of interest in the collaborated one you did with Stefano Valentini years ago when he was still a war photographer.”

 

Luca’s smile faded a bit, “Ah yes.” Then he looked nostalgia and smiled a bit again, “How can I forget that. Stefano was still young and in the world of war photography. Then usually soldiers and their aids are enlisted young. I don’t know why but the practice always felt a bit strange for me. But I guess countries need abled bodied young men and women.”

 

“Yeah, you wrote an essay on one of two of Stefano’s photographs, right? On a soldier, named Andy Pearl?”

 

“Yes, Pearl was a young soldier who tragically died. Stefano had a nice sort of friendship with him. Well, he had taken a photo of Andy when he was alive in a camp. There was a crossfire and Andy died. Stefano had seen his dead body amongst others and well taken a picture. It was an essay on comradery, of war, of life and of death. I am glad Stefano took those pictures. They both well were very well taken. He was always such a skilled photographer. Going in close to danger zones; very dedicated to his profession.” Luca seemed to speak fondly about this.

 

“You must have been happy to know he is in Union. Any conversations? Any new collaborations?” Darya looked on enthused.

 

Luca then smiled weakly, “No. Stefano hasn’t really…well, he hasn’t really come to see me after we came to Union.” Then he looked grim, “I rather say that he doesn’t really want to associate himself with me. I would request if you keep this off the record.”

 

“Oh yes, sure.” Darya was a bit surprised, “Why has Stefano been reluctant to meet with you?”

 

“Oh, I did meet him in one occasion in the gallery and he didn’t look that interested to see me but we did have a conversation, we talked a bit about Andy Pearl and our piece and he just didn’t wish to be seen only as a war photographer anymore. I think he is becoming an artist and wants to be taken seriously in that medium. Well, he didn’t seem like the younger Stefano whom I had known. Yes, there was at times some strangeness to him. He took Pearl’s death emotionally enough. But he did take his pictures of death with some well ‘aesthetic’ shots as if he was photographing a model. I think he wanted the death to look good as the life did. But it did strike me odd when he did do that. And, then I had followed him on the outside. His exhibitions, well I think this Phi person had it right? Is it Art? I found some of it personally in bad taste. Here is was a man who once used to a war photographer and he is making paper-Mache like art on human bodies. I think it feels pretty disingenuous.”

 

“Did you tell him that?”

 

“In slight, yes. Obviously, our relationship didn’t improve on that. But then again, he is his own person and I am my own man. I just wondered what happened to the bit more caring Stefano I had met when I was younger.” Luca mused.

 

“I guess people change.” Darya tried to comfort him. Something told her that Luca was disappointed in Stefano. And, could she blame him? Perhaps not.

 

“Yes, sometimes for the worse.” Luca sighed, “You are pretty easy to talk to.” He said, “But I may have divulged too much of my personal opinions on a peer in Union. Just be a sport and keep this confidential.” Luca smiled, “I don’t get many visitors and I felt chatty today.”

 

“Yes, sure Luca.” Darya smiled back.

 

“We should have some discussions.” Luca started, “I don’t know many people from Union Polytechnic. Though I had been invited there as a guest lecturer in a month. The topic is about short nonfiction stories. I guess I can talk about Andy Pearl, though I don’t know if Stefano would approve but then again that is one of my well known essays. I wasn’t too surprised that you knew about it.”

 

“Yeah, I would love to talk to you again. Thanks for the interview.” Darya got up and collected her things.

 

“I can call you Darya, right?”

 

“Oh yah, you can.”

 

“See you later Darya.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Vases.”

 

“Vases?”

 

“Vases are the ultimate frenzy for me now. I am trying to fuse the feelings I feel into vases! Union could need the lost art of Pottery in it!”

 

“Well Mr. Dandy —“

 

“Francis, and you are Darya.”

 

“Yes,” she had to chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm and his smile, “Well, why these earthen vases?”

 

“Well, we live in a world that _simulates_ the earth and the sky. They are not there. Reminding people that there is a joy to be surrounded by things made of earth and to remember our primordial parts of ourselves in the earth!”

 

Francis Dandy was even younger than Darya. He was a young success. At twenty-seven doing good enough for himself. This obviously invited both awe and envy. He was an American raised in New York. He was quite attractive with his messy light brown hair, half in curls and very nice blue-ash eyes that looked keen and attentive. He was a bit thin. A bit too thin but had some muscle. Darya noticed had some faint dark circles under his eyes too.

 

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” Darya nodded, “I really like this one.” She looks at a pottery with some Persian etchings and a small brain wired to the etchings. It seemed tasteful enough. A fusion.

 

“That’s great. That is one of my favourite pieces as well.” Francis walked around, “I have an exhibition at the end of the month. First one in Union. So, sorry if my home is a mess.”

 

Darya looked at all of the clay, the small cut mirrors, the paint and she felt a warm creative energy in all the artefacts in his living room. Like some true scruffy artist, Francis had put sheets on his living room sofas and moved them to the edge to make space for work. He had a work space down in the basement as well but felt some of his projects needed to happen here. He had given Darya some lemonade which he was having himself.

 

“Nah, it is nice to see you so dedicated.” Darya explained.

 

“Yeah, my exhibition is one of the firsts in Union so I am bloody nervous.” Francis laughed, “But it is work I have done before. After me there is this dude called Valentini. I don’t know about him. But it would be fun to meet new artists.”

 

“Oh, I know some of Stefano Valentini’s work. He used to be a war photographer and he had some exhibitions in Krimson City before.” Darya lit up. It would be good for Stefano to mix with other people. Why did she get the feeling from Luca that he intentionally was isolating himself? She didn’t know if that was a by-product of STEM or his life or both.

 

“Cool. I had no idea.” Francis sat down and was now eating a sandwich, he offered one to Darya but she motioned a polite ‘no’, but Francis looked hungry. It was still morning around 11:46am. She was lucky to have found Luca in his home and that he was an early enough riser so he had scheduled a meeting at 9:30. Francis didn’t look like he slept most of the night. She felt she should keep the interview short so that he could rest. He would need it. “So, what’s he like?” Darya was a bit surprised, “You know this Valentini dude. Is he friendly?”

 

“I don’t know him that well. But he is an artist like you.” Darya informed, “He used to be a war photographer and he did photograph some models as well.”

 

“Wow sounds like an interesting dude.” Francis looked happy, “I haven’t met many people at Union who are artists but I have gone to some local cafes and met some a poet or two. But, I don’t think many of them are interested in working in the creative arts as of yet. They been brought to Union to have any other kind of life. I think they are forfeiting the art scene.”

 

“Forfeiting?” Darya looked confused.

 

“Yah me and a friend call it that. ‘Forfeiting’ — it’s like some of them faced a lot of horrors in the outside world and now well are living peacefully. So, they don’t wish to be in the creative arts anymore. I think some just want to try new things. But my friend, she sometimes thinks for some of them is a kind of betrayal. I know maybe it doesn’t make sense. But I understand her. Poetry and writing are so important to her. She cannot bear to think of any existence without them. And, when some people stop she wondered how can they? I mean…I am more like her but I understand that people need other things as well. Though, I can’t really say ‘no’ to her point of view. That’s the best thing about her. She can be pretty salient and convincing.” Francis kept on eating his sandwich and explaining and then looked outside, “I like the temperature today.”

 

“It was like this yesterday too.” Darya half-smiled.

 

“Really? I didn’t notice for some time and then I just fell asleep. Not a good habit to be nocturnal I know.” Francis was eating another sandwich, “Speaking of which, I need to start cleaning up a bit and get some sleep. Super tired.”

 

“Yah, sure, thank you for your comments.” Darya shook his hand.

 

“Yeah, we should hang out at times.” Francis smiles, “Oh, there is like a spoken word poetry night in a diner on Thursday you should come. It’s like the first one we are having.”

 

“Wow, I feel lucky.” Darya confessed, “I arrived to see a lot of firsts.”

 

“Yah, that is pretty cool.” Francis scratched his head then just resumed, “You know it’s not a large occasion. As I told you, forfeiting. But there is like five people so it would be fun to see them write and read their stuff.”

 

“Will Luca Capello be coming?”

 

“Who is that?”

 

“He is a writer too. I interviewed him just before you.”

 

“Nah, maybe not. It’s not a large-scale thing and if he is too well known it might give jitters or vehemence from the audience.” Francis explained.

 

“Vehemence?” Confused Darya asked as she was getting her things.

 

“Yah, it’s just.” Francis talked softly, “You know I am kinda well known I think in some places outside Union. There are artists here who don’t want us around. They think the whole point of Union is that people who didn’t get a chance out there get a chance here you know. They thing we are invading their territory.”

 

“Oh.” Darya softly answered back. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s entirely fair I mean. There has to be some reason why you chose Union.”

 

“Say that to them. But they are cool with some of us.” Francis laughed nervously, “With me it’s like they are somewhat okay. I mean they don’t see me so much well as a threat or maybe they think I am a chill guy. But, I am sure priorities and allegiances can change after my first exhibition. I am not too keen on that. But life must go on. I mean you can’t be friends with people who aren’t happy for you.” He said this sadly and Darya had to admit this was a complicated situation.

 

“Whatever happens,” She says this reassuringly to him, “I am sure your dedication will at least give you them your respect.”

 

Francis’s mood lightened when he heard this. He added, “We should hang out more Darya. You are a neat person.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I am the one who called it forfeiting and you can add that detail in the interview. I don’t mind my views being expressed and Francis don’t have to keep me anonymous. I am ready to fight any embittered bastard on the face of this planet.”

 

Shoma Khwaja was a powerhouse. She was someone Darya actually knew well. Shoma had published two novels and she had five volumes of poetry and countless essays on democracy and world issues. She was a good-looking woman who was thirty-seven, seemingly accomplished in the outside world and somewhat known. Darya wondered what made her join STEM. She was successful and the Mu Centres seemed to advertise to people who were looking for a second chance. But it was nice to meet her in person.

 

“Well, that is a very bold statement.” Darya smiled.

 

“Yes, well, truth can be bold, Darya, right? You can call me Shoma.” She accentuated, “I am not about to feel afraid by these neo-classists. I mean, Union is supposed to be better than the outside world. I guess this just proves you can change the zoo but man will be the same if he doesn’t curb his bad habits. Well, to some extent.”

 

“Wasn’t your first book about something like an alternative society built on a collapse of something?” Darya explained, “I am really sorry. I did do my homework but it is because I read that book that I knew you. I liked it, I think it was called ‘Sans Helm’ right?”

 

“Wow, I am surprised you read it.” Shoma laughed, “Most people liked my second novel better. Well, they thought that was my debut novel because it had some desi shit in it.” She looked annoyed, “Lemme tell you something. I am Bengali-British and most publications want you to write about the cultural hullaballoo about the South Asian and so-called Western experience. I didn’t cater to that the first time so not many people took notice. Glad, you read what I thought was my own better work.” She smiled, “Yes, ‘Sans Helm’ was my baby. The second novel was more of an experiment but people liked it better. I guess they would also want you to write about the Persian American experience.”

 

“I guess I could make them happy with that.” Darya thought of the past year and wondered how dramatized her life would sound like, “My family didn’t approve of my ex. And, they weren’t completely wrong.”

 

“Splendid, that would make a nice little story. What was his fault?”

 

“Actually, _her_ fault.”

 

“Oh, better.” Then Shoma backtracked a bit, “I am sorry though.”

 

Darya realised this was becoming more of a conversation than an interview, “That’s okay, my first boyfriend was much like her too anyways. But he didn’t cheat on me. She did. Behind my back for three to four years. And in the end, she chose that other girl over me.”

 

“Well, good riddance then.” Shoma smirked.

 

“Yah, I guess.” Darya got a bit quiet and nursed the cup of tea she had been handed in Shoma’s home. She hadn’t talked about this to anyone and somehow, she just said it to Khwaja. She felt embarrassed to say this to a writer of her stature. “I don’t wanna talk about this,” laughing, “Can we get back to interviewing you?”

 

“Sure.” Shoma respectfully nodded. “Well ‘Sans Helm’ is one of the reasons that psychiatrist Yukiko Hoffman contacted me via the Mu Centres.”

 

“She did?” Now, this was interesting.

 

“Yes. She wanted a sci-fi dystopian type of writer to be a part of Union. Perhaps, she wants to prove me wrong. I commend them for that. But, they can also be wrong.” Shoma laughed, “I joined the Mu Centres as a form of vacation. I don’t think I am their usual type of candidate but convincing me about Union is something anyone would be interested in doing.”

 

“And, what do you think of Union so far?” Darya asked.

 

“I think it is good enough structurally. I mean the buildings and the foods are good. They have it programmed to feel the food we are consuming are well food outside. It is all IV in a way though. When I think of that it kinda makes me sad but we will see.” Shoma smirked, “Though, I do have some reservations. This I would prefer you keep to a minimum to your writing as of now.”

 

“Alright.” Darya nodded.

 

“It has to do with the forfeiters. It’s like they don’t always need their creativity anymore. Or, rather they wanna do other things. Francis is right. I can’t think of myself without being a writer or a poet. I mean yes, I can and have done other things, but being an author and poet are also part of my identity. I know some people consider it an activity or a hobby. But the forfeiters, they found so much of something they thought they couldn’t outside in Union, as in better living conditions and all, they feel that creativity shouldn’t really matter much. They want to do jobs they couldn’t out in the real world. If you ask me they are being snobby as the job elitists outside but then again what can I say to change their minds? The Polytechnic university will offer courses and they will train themselves to do other jobs. I guess that is their matter now.” Shoma sighed, “Then there is the other group. The new artists who don’t like old artists and pretty much want to pretend we don’t exist. We are their competition. So, you have one people giving up their creativity thinking they won’t need it anymore and there are other people who won’t let you be a creative person if you don’t fit their standards.”

 

“Things sound a bit complicated.” Darya could only say, “I mean I thought segregation politics would be at a minimum here.”

 

“No. It has its own tumultuous little socio-politics. Of course, Polytechnic wants to act blind to it. They are a university by the Mu Centre and no one wants to think Union is imperfect. There is also some competition for the jobs. Some people are training to relocate to different professions. They want to build their dreams here but you can train only a few and you can also see to it the others are not so dissatisfied with the other outcomes. I would say Union still needs some work. I heard they already want to expand it. Well, I understand. They want the growth. But, I wonder what new ideas people will get in their heads.”

 

“So, what are your thoughts on Union in general?” Darya asked the main question.

 

“Good one.” Shoma winked, “Well, I still have my reservations about it. I am optimistic and I want to give it a chance. But, I am not going to say it is the little slice of heaven the Mu centres wish to advertise. You can put that down.”

 

“And about the rest I will just gloss over it.” Darya nodded. “Thanks, for the interview.”

 

“No problem, are you going home now?”

 

“No. I need to interview one last person, Stefano Valentini.” Darya smiled.

 

“His name sounds nice. What does he do?”

 

“Well, he used to be a war photographer. Now he is an artist.”

 

“Wait, I think I do know him.” Shoma looked at Darya, “His last picture in the battlefront made him lose an eye, right? I read an interview of his a long time back.”

 

“Yes. That’s him.” Darya nodded.

 

“I actually remember him for something else though. Wasn’t there a host of murders in Krimson City. And a model was killed. I think he was her friend, right? That is a very nasty business.”

 

“Yeah, her name was Emily Lewis. They never did catch the guy though.” Darya sadly spoke.

 

“Well, I wished they did catch the bastard. Yuck, I did see the poor young woman’s body. What a sicko to do that to her.” Shoma shuddered, then after a while smiled at Darya, “Well, musn’t keep you long. You still have Mr. Valentini to interview.”

 

“Yeah. We can go for a coffee later if you want and talk about ‘Sans Helm.’” Darya offered.

 

“Of course, we should. I was thinking of it myself.” Shoma winked.

 

* * *

 

“I wasn’t really expecting you.” Stefano Valentini was wearing a blue suit with a mauve sort of scarf as he looked at Darya, “You are Seif? Am I right?”

 

“Yes. Darya Seif. Mr. Valentini.” She smiled, “You can call me Darya if you want.”

 

“You are from Union Polytechnic? I don’t recall getting any email or text from them regarding this.” Stefano looked thoughtful.

 

“I sent you an email the other day about the interview.” Darya said, “Is this a bad time?”

 

“No. Not really.” Stefano smiled, “I might have missed it. I been a bit busy. As you can see.” The gallery had many photographs on display and some people were around, “I been helping putting up this display with the other staff, Darya. Most of it is not mine. This is a various artists’ compilation.” He said it with some, Darya thought, _irritation_ , but smiled anyway, “So you are already up and about for the Polytechnic?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Valentini. I am.” Darya stated politely.

 

“Well, you can call me Stefano if I am calling you Darya.” Stefano casually addressed, “So Darya what would you like to know?”

 

“How do you like it in Union?”

 

“I like it a lot. I think this place has loads of potential and I am happy that I can have enough time to pursue my work.” Stefano smiled happily. There was something both innocent and _twisted_ about the smile. Darya wondered how she read that but it did make her shiver a bit.

 

“I — uh…” She wanted to continue, “I heard you have an exhibition coming up after one Francis Dandy.”

 

“Oh, yes, that young man.” Stefano looked a bit grim, smile being gone, “I wished my exhibition happened before but I guess his subject matter is also interesting. Clay vases and all.” Stefano looked uninterested and also a bit condescending. Darya didn’t know what to say about that initially. But she felt it was in poor taste of Stefano to talk about Francis like that.

 

“Well, I did see him at work. He is a very dedicated artist.” It was almost a cold rebuke from her.

 

Stefano raised a brow, “I suppose he is good. He had some success. I guess the public can understand inanimate things better than live subjects.” Another blow it seemed.

 

“Well, his vases are very creative.” Darya wanted to protect Francis. Yes, Stefano was very polished himself but she found him acting like a petty school kid at the moment.

 

“If you say so.” Stefano shrugged. He didn’t seem interested in that conversation, “After all, you are here to talk about me, aren’t you?” he smiled at this statement and Darya could only frown a bit. _Wow, Stefano has some ego issues_.  

 

“Well, they have some of your old war photographs in the gallery. Even the last one.” She looks at him attentively now, “What do you think about that?”

 

“Well, the gallery stated that there would need to be an oeuvre of work for people to get introduced to me if they were unfamiliar.” Stefano smiled again, “I have had some people come and talk to me about my photographs.” Then he looked away from his own photos, “But I rather have my exhibition for me. This is my past life. It shouldn’t really interfere with who I am now.”

 

“I suppose.” Darya didn’t know if this relatively a good or bad thing, “But I guess the past has some meaning.”

 

“Yes. It does have some meaning.” Stefano smiled again.

 

It was all of a sudden, a picture caught Darya’s eye, “Is that…?” She approached it, “Emily Lewis?”

 

“Oh yes.” Stefano added casually, “That seems to be her.”

 

“Oh, she is in a purple dress. Has roses and an emerald necklace.” Darya commented.

 

“Yes, one of my nice pieces I should say.” Stefano smiled. “It’s not the best shot but it does have some fond memories.”

 

“Well, she looks a bit stiff. I don’t know why but the ambience looks a bit too guarded.” Darya realised she just critiqued Stefano’s work. Out loud.

 

“Oh really?” Stefano gave her a dry and distant look, with the slant of his eye.

 

“It’s just I feel the flowers are great but —“ _Might as well take the leap_ , “The picture is well a bit stiff.”

 

“Do you know cameras and composition?” Stefano asked darkly.

 

“No.” Darya innocently replied.

 

“Well, then should you be making such comments?” Stefano sounded irked.

 

“I am just saying it as a viewer.” Darya just had to say that, “I know I am ignorant about certain things. I guess I feel she should be surrounded with more flowers that’s all or in an open space or that angle could be different. It’s just my reading. Feel free to discard it.”

 

Stefano looked at her for a while and then sighed, “More flowers?”

 

“Yes?” She looked at him oddly.

 

“I agree.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“A bouquet would probably had looked better.” Stefano looked at her a smirked, “Not bad. So, you aren’t completely a neophyte.”

 

“ A neophyte?” Darya looked surprised.

 

“You know a —“

 

“Oh, I know what it means it’s just.” Darya looked at him as he saw her, “I didn’t expect you to use that word.”

 

“Why not?” Stefano smirked again.

 

“Novice sounds less harsh don’t you think?”

 

“I don’t always intend to be nice though.” Stefano chuckled but Darya found his choice of word a bit jarring.

 

“Uh, I actually also met up with Luca Capello.” Darya mentioned and Stefano lost his laugh and looked at her, “I know you did a collaboration piece many years ago.”

 

“Yes, many years ago.” Stefano said in a dry tone, “Another life. How is he?”

 

“Aren’t you surprised that he is also here?” Darya asked.

 

“Not really. He was a bit of scandal in the papers with that younger woman and a fight for that actress. Not very professional.” Stefano critiqued in a detached manner that Darya found a bit too cruel.

 

“Isn’t he your friend, though?” Darya challenged.

 

“No. Not really.” Stefano kept on walking with Darya by his side.

 

“Oh, I guess you didn’t like that he critiqued your exhibitions in Krimson City.” She boldly spoke out.

 

“Well, yes.” Stefano looked at her, “Friends shouldn’t bash each other’s work. Would you want your friend to do that? Besides, he is from my life as a war photographer. A liminal sort of life when I reflect back. I am an artist now. We could be considered oppositional. He is of the old generation of artists and creatives and I am up and coming sort.” Stefano smiled again, softly, “You could say that there is little chance of a friendship at that.”

 

Darya didn’t completely like this attitude. This cocksure and pretty much condescending look on others. She wanted to know if this was Stefano’s coping mechanism. It didn’t excuse him really but she didn’t know if this was a by-product of post-traumatic stress or him being an absolute jerk. “Do you, uh…want me to quote you on that?”

 

“Why not?” Stefano looked happy, “You may it is the truth.”

 

“So you are really excited about your new exhibition in Union?”

 

“Very much so.” Then looking at Darya again, “You should come of course. I want to know your opinion on the pieces. You seem so readily give your views.” Darya had to chuckle on that, it seemed like a half-compliment.

 

“Yes, I would like to see your work.” Darya nodded.

 

“Very good.”

 

Stefano looked at his watch. “I suppose that is all you need from me? I will go and have lunch.”

 

“Oh yes.” Darya nodded, “I need to have lunch to.” Then she thought for a moment, “Are you going to a café?”

 

“A restaurant.” Stefano stayed.

 

“Oh, do you wanna go together?” Darya just asked on a whim. She didn’t necessarily dislike Stefano but she had disliked some of his behaviour. She hadn’t meant to completely ask him. But in truth she was bored and probably would have asked anyone.

 

Stefano looked at her for a while.

 

Darya thought he was going to reject and was going to speak it is alright when he gave a soft smile

 

“Sure, why not? Let us go.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the late update. I have been sick so couldn't focus on the story as much as I would have liked. I hope you guys like the direction it is going. And yay Stefano and Darya are going out somewhere and yes Darya and Stefano are not smitten to each other...yet XD I mean why should they be? Darya and Stefano seem pretty different at times. But I guess they do understand each other at their cores. So yes I will try to update soon =)


	4. Lunch Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the late update. I been busy quite busy with work. I hope this chapter satisfies some reader enjoyments. Onwards!

 

**Lunch Exchange**

 

 

“The Devil’s Taphouse.” Darya didn’t know if she should be impressed or a bit concerned. The name had a “devil” in it and well, she didn’t know what Stefano’s intentions were — after all, he was very immersed with his ideologies of being an artist and she was thinking that his choice was no accident. That it was meant to be calculative or calculated into some concept of art that he had fostered in his mind. For once, she was getting some weird Modernism vibe from him that she was severely not fond of. Not that things could not have origins and deeper meanings but sometimes going for that all the time aside the simple ‘this place is nice’ was in, the lack of a better word for her, ‘pretentious’ or ‘desperate.’ Or, probably both.

 

“You have been here, before?” Stefano was now a bit softer. Addressing her with a lilt of charm that did not seem veiled politeness.

 

“No. I haven’t. I haven’t been around this area much.” Darya confessed, then chuckled, “I find the name intimidating.”

 

“You find the devil intimidating or the taphouse?” There was a teasing in his voice.

 

“Uh, just the name? I don’t know if I should the devil intimidating. In my familial origins, the devil, he or they, are considered a nuisance and a burden. And enemy but not some mystical object to be feared. Rather, someone we can be angry with for being a thorn in our side. A discriminatory force.” Darya explained as she walked in with Stefano. One of the bartenders seemed to know him.

 

“I guess that’s interesting.” Stefano smiled, genuinely, “But the devils and angels are fascinating as subjects, wouldn’t you say so?”

 

“Yah.” Darya nodded, “They are. Though.” She looked reflective, “I find humans a lot more interesting at times.”

 

“Ah. But humans can be devils and angels.” Stefano chuckled.

 

“I suppose their actions can be. I am sorry. I just don’t find it easy to demonise people that easily. Or, idolise them. Not anymore, anyway.” Darya explains herself and she is noticing a waiter is coming towards them. The expression he wears is one of some dry contempt. She wonders if he was racist and has realised she isn’t White. No one in Union could be immune from that seeing people could be discriminatory and biased. _Then_ , she saw him look daggers at Stefano. _Oh…_

 

“Oh, you there you are Walter.” Stefano talked to him with casual ease.

 

The young man named Walter, swallowed his pride, gave a nice enough smile, “Hello Mr. Valentini.” Looking at Darya, “Ma’am.”

 

“Oh, you can call me Darya. It’s Darya Seif.” She extended her hand and he seemed surprised and took it.

 

“Well, you seem one of the nice ones.” Walter looked happy.

 

“Are you implying _I_ am not?” Stefano looked at him now with a sort of annoyance. The animosity between them was quite apparent and Darya wanted to duck under the table least incendiaries are addressed, “And.” Stressing on it perfectly, “I did not you, you are obligated to call me _Mr._ Valentini.”

 

“True.” Walter saw he was being too rigid, “It’s just all the ladies you brought before here were kinda condescending Stefano.”

 

“And, your point?” Stefano challenged, “Am to control all their behaviours? If they are like that. It’s on them.”

 

“You didn’t seem to be annoyed by it as you are by me.” Walter looked irritated too, but seemed to project he was being reasonable, “It isn’t fair. This is Union after all. I didn’t come here to listen to the same sort of classist bullshit I faced on the outside.”

 

“And, _we_ didn’t come here to listen to your interesting albeit narrow thesis on social commentary.” Stefano says this a bit roughly that Darya looked at him, automatically, with some disdain, he notices, but continues, “You are here to take our _order_ , yes?”

 

Walter looks taken aback. Thoroughly embarrassed. “I…yes…” he looked elsewhere, bright red from what was said to him.

 

“I am sorry for all of this.” Darya quickly tries to control the situation, “We aren’t on a date and I was interviewing Stefano.” She smiled, desperate to keep the animosity under wraps, “Uh…I don’t know what’s good. I am sorry I am new to Union.”

 

Walter regains his bearings and smiles, “Well, isn’t that cool. And, you are already doing interviews? That seems you got the right start, Darya.” He smiles now and Darya almost sighs in relief, “ We are usually quite cool here at night. You know a lot of people come here to just well drink and eat a well-cooked dinner at night. We are slow during the days. However, steak sandwiches and steak still good. We also have sea-food pie. That’s our special for lunch today and most days. Would you wanna try? It has fresh scallops.” Then he chuckled, “I guess everything will be fresh in Union. There is no way food can be easily contaminated.”

 

“I love Steak and you are right,” she was happier now, “Food won’t be contaminated like in the real world or the world we came from. Uh…I will try that seafood pie. I am not in the steak mood. Something tells me that would be good to try for dinner.”

 

“Well, Darya you are always welcome to come back.” Walter smiles and says nothing to Stefano aside, “What will you be having?”

 

“Why not the same thing. Sounds classy.” Stefano said this cockily and with some venom and both of them exchanged glances that showed they weren’t on the best of terms.  Walter smiled again at Darya and then left to go get their meal.

 

“Uh…” Darya says this after a moment, “What was all that about?”

 

“Nothing but some petty proletariat commentary.” Stefano dismisses this in a way as he would a fly.

 

“Are you sure?” Darya pressed, not knowing if she should.

 

“Well, you heard him. It was pretty preachy if you ask me.” Stefano looked bored, “I don’t judge people on what they do so I would wish they extend the same courtesy to me. That young man was looking for a fight. A neophyte in his 20s who believes all the world should respect him as he _works_ for a living. As if,” he motions, “We don’t.”

 

“I just think he got sad that he felt your dates,” she carefully talked to him, “Treated him badly.”

 

“Not my job to correct snobby women. Or, men.” Stefano laughed.

 

“Oh, so you date both men and women?” She smiled.

 

“Are you gonna add that to your interview?” Stefano smiled in an almost _flirty_ way, “Queer artist. Be on the lookout.” Laughs some more but then looks a bit irked again, “I rather would not want any perception of my sexual orientation to help the masses connect to my work.”

 

“Oh, no. I was just asking.” She smiled.

 

“Not really. I don’t always have a sexual desire for men. I am pretty much straight in some sense of the word though I don’t like top label myself anything other than artist.” Stefano explained, “What about you?” he asks this, looking at the drinks menu.

 

“My ex was a girl so I am not straight.” Darya admitted.

 

“An _ex_ …” he says this in a velvety manner, “I didn’t figure you the type to have exes.”

 

“What does that meant to mean?” Darya crosses her arms, looking annoyed.

 

Stefano smiles. Walter comes over with some water and asks, “Any drinks?”

 

“White champagne.” Says it without breaking contact with Darya.

 

Darya almost blushes at the intensity of his look but then looks at Walter, “A chilled lemon-mint tea.”

 

“Coming right up.” Walter walks away, though frowns at Stefano.

 

“There.” Stefano says.

                                                                             

“Huh?” Darya looks back at him.

 

“You didn’t order alcohol. You just went with something else. You are perhaps not a connoisseur of alcoholic drinks but you seem to be the type who likes long term relationships.” Stefano grinned a bit. Something about Darya right now put him at ease. Perhaps, the fact she was an even tempered queer woman was something that appealed to him. After all, Walter hadn’t been wrong. Some of his one night stands at Union had been snobby “upper-class” pretty much straight ladies or he brought over men of business (most probably their husbands) for drinks and they didn’t look too kindly at the people who worked as waiters. Not that Stefano cared because they were not art-objects or people he would want to take notice as long as they said something nice about his work he would forgive almost anything else. After all, they were not patrons of his work as of yet nor else he would weed out the snobby, the prejudiced and the boorish. Right now, he was just sampling. Walter may have a point but he still stuck with his. He was an artist and they were not. So, their behaviours didn’t matter to him at all. Unless, it could jeopardise his work and become a thorn on his side.

 

“Me not ordering alcohol tells you that?” Darya looks at him with a grin herself.

 

“Well, somewhat. You don’t want to cross any lines and you may not be into casual dating.” Stefano smiles a bit _warm_ , “After all, some of the women I bring to the restaurant if they have some romantic or sexual motives on me they just go for it. I don’t hate it. There is something appealing about a bold woman. Though, it can get tiresome. Ah, the days of the romantic, long courtships. I wonder if they are over.”

 

“Do you want to be casually romanced?” Darya’s raised a brow.

 

Walter brought their drinks. Looked at both them. Looked again and left.

 

“Are you offering?” Stefano smirked.

 

Darya started laughing, “Of course, not!” Stefano blinked, “Excuse my laughter. It’s just I am the last person I think you would wish to date, Stefano.”

 

“Oh really?” Stefano looks interested, “What makes you say that?”

 

“Well…” Darya knew she had to wisely word her sentences, “Uh…you don’t find me interesting in that way?” she thought that would seem less rude, “You always look at me as I am someone to put up with than someone you are amazed or even interested by.” _Okay, maybe that was a bit too much Darya_ , “I don’t mean this in a bad way though,” she quickly but genuinely smiles, “We just met each other.”

 

Stefano got quiet and looked at his drink. He drank his champagne a bit. A sudden silence fell on the tale and Darya was regretting some of her choices. “I apologise.” The words made her look at him in slight shock, “I did wish to come across as impolite.”

 

“Oh you haven’t —“

 

“It is true you are not a model.” Stefano says this fast and Darya looks on, “You aren’t elegant as them nor are you sophisticated as them either.” Darya looks away, _Well, thanks for sparing my feelings_ , she doesn’t know if this is rude or just Stefano, she knows she can’t really stop him from talking now that the conversation has been brought up, she probably could but something in his demeanour does not seem to be condescending or cruel, “Frankly, you are your own person it seems. That can be interesting in its own way. You don’t have to pretend to be something you are not. I can completely respect that.” Stefano looks at her again, his eyes not so cold, “I do. You seem real enough. You don’t hide your opinions. I suppose they are tolerable. Yet, you aren’t a burden either.” Then he smiles, “I am actually enjoying my time with you. It feels…” he breathes in, “Different. In a way, I don’t know how to identify as, as of yet.”

 

“Well, I appreciate you being truthful.” Darya smiles, “You weren’t rude to me. But you seem to be rude to a lot of people.”

 

Stefano blinks, “Oh, maybe, I am.” Then he grins, “I don’t care. I am not responsible for everyone.”

 

Darya decides to not talk on it anymore, “I suppose. But what about Walter?” it comes out before she can control herself.

 

“Walter should understand I am an artist not a therapist. If some people act rude to him due to some illusion of superiority I cannot really tell them to act differently. I am not a therapist or their nanny.”

 

The last part makes Darya laugh a bit more. Nanny Stefano, can’t picture it — oh shit, I did. Funny as fuck.

 

“You laugh is quite soothing. Reminds me of the times when I was with all those people in the warm” Stefano looks outside the window, “The times when the soldiers were not fighting a war and could have time to talk to the photographer, me.” He pointed to himself as he looked back at Darya, “You know I was one of them then. No longer the neutral. No matter the side. Felt comforting. Felt pretty human.”

 

“Wow, I…” Darya was a bit speechless, “Well, we aren’t in a war here.”

 

“Are we at peace?” Stefano seems lost in thought, “ _Yet_?”

 

“I don’t know.” Darya probably knew wasn’t asking her but she decided to reply, “Everything feels both different and the same here to me. I don’t know what are the good and bad as of yet.”   

 

Stefano smiled again, “The _potential_ of this place has all the particles needed for peace.” The conviction flared in his eyes as though he was going to be swayed away by the fire of purification. That conviction felt a bit off to Darya.

 

“You _really_ think so?”

 

“Yes, I _know_ so.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Darya didn’t know if his way of speaking was enthusiasm or just _something_ he knew and no one else. Either way, there was something “creepy” or “strange” about him — it would inaccurate to call him eccentric because he wasn’t that at all. Though, she wondered what he was thinking. And, what his idea of peace was?

 

“There must be some chaos too. Peace cannot exist it. A vulnerable peace, a fragile peace, that is what we have now. It can explode at any moment. It can be filled with a form of remonstration. A deep-seated desire or unfulfillable craving. But as the new residents we have all a place to shed the flesh of the potential of this place.” Stefano looked far away and looked so into what he was speaking. As if it caught hold of him.

 

“Chaos?” Darya did not know exactly what to question. She just wanted to know more and carry the conversation. A part of her wished they weren’t talking about this. Her gut gave a tug that made her feel that this was a bad feeling. Her gut…she almost chuckled, wasn’t she only “mind” is this place.

 

“Yes. Think about it. Union welcomes people who had some sort of chaos in their own lives. I am presuming, pardon my intrusion, that your chaos was with your ex-girlfriend or was she an ex-fiancé?” Stefano looked pretty calm and happy.

 

“Ex-girlfriend. Do we need to —“

 

“Think about it. She is chaos that led you to peace. Or, at least she is part of a chaos. Without her, would you need Union?” Stefano looked determined, “If she hadn’t broken up with you, would you have come here? Everyone needs a necessary chaos to come here. Union advertises itself to be without that chaos. And, in a way it has somewhat delivered what it has promised. Yet, that potential is not fully exercised. It is in multiple layers. Like diving into flesh. An ocean of flesh with so many vessels and organs. Waiting to be played. Perfected.”

 

“An organ?”

 

“No. Organs. Plural.”

 

“I…uh…” Darya looked a bit concerned, “So, you think we haven’t reached it yet?” Then added carefully, “Or, _you_ haven’t reached it yet?”

 

Stefano smiled, “Always the curious one. Always asking the right sort of questions it seems.” There was a glint in his eyes, “Perhaps, you are interesting after all.”

 

Darya blinked for a minute. Then looked a bit bothered, “But I am not _art_. I am a person.” For some reason, how he chose his words bothered her. It was like he was classifying her like people classifies art objects in portfolios or make some stuff around. She didn’t know if she should be bothered more by how he said it. She just knew her gut was grazing her.

 

“No. You are not art. I am not sure if you could _qualify_.” Stefano says this with a nonchalant chuckle. She doesn’t know if that is a condescension or an insult. It feels like both. Or, what was it?

 

“Something tells me if it’s good I don’t qualify.” Darya says this with no colour in her voice, “After all, your art subjects turn out to be assemblages of body parts. I don’t know if I would like seeing myself in this way. Like some weird shattered mirror.” The last part she says this with little thought but more of an irritation. She wants to be in an equal playing level. Yet, she doesn’t know if being his equal was something that would benefit him or her. What if she didn’t need to be in the sense that think equally to him? As of now?

 

Stefano looked actually shocked for a moment, “And, you think I would repeat my art pieces? Plagiarise myself?” when he regained his bearings he looked cold and angry, “No artist worth their salt does that.” ‘

 

“Then if you were to make me into art,” Darya pushed forward now, anger of her own, “How would you do so?”

 

“You are not art.” Stefano was being definitive. He wanted to close the subject.

 

“I am not art.” Darya challenged, “Or, you can’t see it. Trapped by your lens.”

 

Stefano gripped the table, hands almost white, “Didn’t you say you are a _person_ and _not_ art.”

 

“Humour me.” Darya was pretty much pushing it.

 

Stefano looked for a moment. Then five minutes seemed to wash away. The restaurant got a bit quieter. Late afternoon seeped in. There was some warmth in the air as the door opened and close. Like some Indian Summer or Late Autumn day washing itself down with honeyed gold before the dusk settled with powdered heat and salted colours sprinkled over white, patches of grey, pinks, red, purples, violets and deepest blues. Eyes locked into each other. “I…” Stefano looked quiet, “I can’t understand your image.” He looked shocked, “Strange. I _smell_ dusk on you and dawn but other than that.” He looked a bit terrified for a second, “Nothing. Almost like liquefied film. A tabula rasa. Can’t be. But some sort of blankness that is too cold and hot at the same time.” His eyes looked lost. Lost in here deep shaded ones. As though someone put some sky coloured ice cream on coffee.

 

“You guys came late and we are sorry for the delay.” Walter seemed to come in, it seems he came around late on purpose, “The ovens were giving us some trouble. Here you two go.” He set the food down and refilled a bit of Stefano’s champagne and left. Looking a bit at Darya as if mouthing if she is okay.

 

“Well…” Darya looked at her food hungry, famished for something that felt familiar, “I could just be in open field in a bouquet at dawn or in a library.”  She opened her mouth to eat.

 

“Perhaps,” Stefano grinned again, “though the flowers can be all black roses to suit your eyes. And the dawn or dusk has to be soaked in colours!” he regained his animation once more and looked _relieved_ and happy.

 

“Though you are right.” Darya didn’t want to continue the discussion of her as art, it seemed to make Stefano uneasy and her as well, but on a way as though he felt so lost for a moment, he couldn’t compute what was happening, as though he was somewhere else, was it trauma? Or, truly a gap in his visionary ways of thinking? She just thought they shouldn’t discuss it anymore, “I am not really qualified enough as art.”

 

“No.” Stefano smiled, “But, you may be an artist yet!” he seemed so enthused, “Perhaps, you can share some ideas later?”

 

“Uh…I am not really good at this. You know I know nothing about cameras.” Darya confessed once more as she ate.

 

“I don’t mind showing you some models.” Stefano slowly ate and looked at Darya.

 

“You mean some pretty looking people or photographic accessories.” Darya attempted to joke. She suddenly felt a bit shy at how Stefano eyed her.

 

“The more of the latter.” Stefano then giggled, “Do you wanna date a model?”

 

“I wish.” Darya was happy the conversation was moving away, “But I am not really the type am I?”

 

“I don’t know. Perhaps you aren’t.” Stefano smiled as he said this.

 

“Oh, you are sometimes a bit mean.” Darya chuckled. Teasing him a bit. She wanted this to seem _normal_ because for a moment it edged away from anything that could be called normal or whatever we base our comforts on. Though she was the last person to think of normal and normativity.

 

“You did say I was rude. A bit mean may be easier to digest.” Stefano teased back.

 

Darya smiled. “At least you are honest.”

 

“No. It is hard to gauge.” Stefano explained, “I am not sure which models would be interested in dating you. Everyone is different. I am sure models wouldn’t always choose me either.”

 

“Yet you seem erudite and attractive.” Darya says this truthfully. Stefano covered his bruised eye yet he was a handsome man. His hair beautiful and his face nice. His charms undeniable.

 

“That I am.” Stefano seemed happy to be complimented, _Uh stroking his ego, erection much_ , Darya wanted to laugh at her own joke but suppressed it. “Wanna taste?”

 

“What?” Darya looks a bit stunned as she was distracted.

 

“The champagne?” He offered his glass to her. His hand outstretched.

 

“Uh…” Darya held the glass and Stefano didn’t pull his hand away and she tasted it, “It’s a nice.” Then she realised, “Oh, I am so sorry. I drank from your glass!” she blushed a bit.

 

“No matter.” Stefano took a sip, “You looked good drinking champagne. May I have a taste of your tea?”

 

“Sure.” She outstretched her hand. And she also didn’t let go as Stefano drank from it. Then he observed his glass.

 

“No lipstick.”

 

“Oh, yah.” She saw him checking the rim. “Was there a reason you made me drink the champagne?”

 

“No. I wanted to know. If you really smelt like dawn and dusk. You somewhat do. It was in the glass after you drank from it.” Stefano says this casually, “I didn’t doubt it completely. You are _cute_.”

 

“You say that with some form of frustration. I know the word is not so good.” Darya can see it in his face and in his eyes.

 

“Cute is accessory like. Not so elegant. However, I know you are not elegant.” Stefano stated this as fact.

 

“I know.” Darya sighs, _Why is he repeating that?_

 

“But I don’t know if you are _only_ cute.” Stefano seemed to drink his champagne more, _Wait is he feeling like getting a taste of…me? From_ … “Something else. Would it be okay to say _adorable_?” It seems like he is talking to himself.

 

“Like a teddy bear?” Darya didn’t mean to interrupt him but she realised she didn’t know if she was ready for him to go one of his reveries again.

 

“No. A teddy bear is for a child. You are too much woman to be only a teddy bear.” Stefano seems to say this as boldly as he talks about his work even if the enthusiasm is not effusive.

 

“Wait, is that a compliment?” Darya realises it as she is eating a shrimp.

 

“Could be?” Stefano almost sounds flirty.

 

“Thank You.” Darya decided to answer this nicely. After all, that’s one of the first times he complimented her. Though she didn’t know if he planned it or if he was sure he would.

 

“You aren’t necessarily different. But I guess when someone talks to you they see there is some elegance somewhere even if you aren’t really elegant.” Stefano looks a bit annoyed, “I should have known it sooner. Though, you try to be a bit too casual, don’t you?”

 

“I just am being myself.” Darya explained.

 

“So, are you an artist? Do you consider yourself to be one?” Stefano ate too, his calmness returning, looking at her.

 

“No. I am just a researcher. I am not really an artist. I failed a lot in life. I am nobody that special I guess. Or, maybe I am. Not sure. But I value myself a lot because I can only be me. With my failures, rejections and problems.” Darya stated, not knowing if Stefano would be interested as he was a bit of a moody person.

 

“An artist is meant to fail because neophytes are all around.” Stefano says this with a lot confidence, “Failing to be a success at first can be considered a sign of special talent.”

 

“I didn’t get into the universities I wanted.” Darya didn’t mind telling him that, “I wanted to do another Masters or a PhD but I guess I wasn’t qualified for that as well.” She snickers a bit.

 

“Ah, institutionalised education. I do not know how worth it is nowadays. Though I am sure even some of the top universities may not always be the best for talent to thrive.” Stefano says this now more focusing on his food.

 

“And a warzone is?” Darya says it then instantly, “I am sorry. That was pretty rude.”

 

“It was.” Stefano grinned, “A common ground?” Darya has to smile a bit at this, “Well, I did not take offense. I just feel there I found something I wouldn’t find in a classroom. Though I wonder…” Stefano had a glint in his eyes now, “Would one day a classroom study what I have discovered and new artists would aspire to take their places in the echelons of it.”

 

“I wonder. Learning about art is as important as experiencing the meanings and feelings associated with it.” Darya had to say that he wasn’t really wrong. Then she quietly asks, “What…what did you find out there?”

 

Stefano eats and looks at her. Smiles, “Death.”

 

“Yes. I mean. What about the aspect of art?” She misunderstood, which is natural.

 

“I found death and I realised that beauty has to be in the eye of the beholder.” Stefano says this with more conviction.

 

“Oh.” Darya didn’t completely get it but she was sure perhaps his exhibition would work to show more meaning.

 

“What about your ex?”

 

“I don’t really talk about her.”

 

“Not even over a late lunch?” Stefano smiled.

 

“Especially, over that…” Darya looked tired.

 

“May I know her name?” Stefano asks this politely.

 

“Lindsey Fort. She left me for a Tanya. I also knew Tanya.” Darya says this with some anger.

 

“Uh, Lindsey.” Stefano seems happy to know her name.

 

“You know.” Darya starts after a silence, “I wonder if Lindsey and I could stay here, in Union.”

 

“You mean that?” Stefano looks interested.

 

“I know, I mean, we are both women, the outside world has homophobia. I wonder if Union would have less of that. And, we could live here. Without discrimination.” Darya confesses, a desire. She had once wanted to settle down with Lindsey. Now, she was sure she never knew her girlfriend.

 

“There is only one problem.” Stefano sipped his drink.

 

“That is?”

 

“That dream would now work for Lindsey and Tanya.” Stefano cocked his head.

 

It felt a bit like her gut crashing down. She wanted to cry. She knew it was not Stefano’s intent here to be mean. She knew it wasn’t because he looked pretty solemn. It seems he was stating facts. Facts she wanted to forget for a while. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.” She says slowly.

 

“You should treat ex-lovers as critics and discarded art ideas.” Stefano says this cheerfully, eating into his seafood special.

 

“What they are people too?” Darya looked shocked and confessed.

 

“Oh please, Lindsey didn’t think you were a person. I am sure to her you were miniscule.” He grins, baring teeth.

 

“Oh, yah.” Darya bares her fangs, “I think our relationship had something. I dated her for most of my adult life.”   


“Yet, here you are.” Stefano drinks, “And Lindsey is out there. With Tanya.”

 

“C’mon Stefano.” Darya looked annoyed, “You want me to treat Lindsey as an art piece?”

 

“Oh, of course not…” Stefano looked horrified, “You can’t have sex with art pieces. That would make you a weird sort of pervert. You can treat her as a discarded idea.” He says this with a fond malice, “So more minuscule than an atom. Oblivious to creation and extinction. Just a dot on the plate of food. A leftover.”

 

Darya looked at him for a moment as though he was crazy, then she regained her composure, “But…she is a person too. Even though…” Darya looks at him softly, “She has become a ghost.”

 

“Hmmm, do ghosts exist in Union?”

 

“I thought I saw one. A young girl.” Darya says this with some reservation.

 

“A young girl huh?” Stefano asks, “Could it be….you?”

 

“No. I am sure she was there. I don’t know. Union glitch. I guess glitches can be ghosts.” Darya explains.

 

“Hmm, glitches. They sound so unartistic.” Stefano finishes his drink, “Though I wonder. A girl. Wonder if she is a lost soul.”

 

“She was.” Darya reveals, “She wanted to find her way back home.”

 

“I don’t think they have any children in union though.” Stefano says it with assurance, “I wonder who would children around. This life is not burdened by procreation.”

 

“You think it’s a burden?” Darya asks amused now.

 

“I guess more for women, right?” Stefano asks, pointing, “With all the chemistry of bodies termed as female bodies. With the timeframe cut down.”

 

“I don’t know. So, you are against children? Then how can your work be enjoyed?” She was just teasing.

 

“I don’t know but children can be the most annoying neophytes.” Stefano shivers. Darya laughs.

 

“So, that’s a ‘no to kids’?” Darya asks.

 

“Somewhat I suppose. I am an artist not a child-bearer.” His choice of words and his bored expression makes Darya laugh again.

 

They finish their foods and drinks. “This has been fun.”

 

“I suppose it has.” Stefano looks peaceful, “You are tolerable company.”

 

“I guess I am flattered.” She says it half-sarcastically. Stefano doesn’t seem to mind. “I guess we can keep in touch. Aside work.”

 

Stefano nods, “We can.”

 

They both exchange their goodbyes.

 

It was becoming night in Union. The stars were out. No Moon. Darya suddenly felt a chill while going home. Which was unusual as Union was hardly cold. The atmosphere almost felt like a fog. A blue fog. Like as though she was mixing in some kind of film. In the alleyway, across the street. Something moved. It blinked with the neon lights. Darya looked a bit closer. It seemed like a woman dressed in white. She was moving around. Glitching. But she wasn’t _walking_ … Looked like she was hovering…like a ghost…

 

Suddenly, Darya felt she was somewhere else. She felt she was in an attic. Her family attic. “Darrrryyyya….” A voice of a woman called to her. She looked around feeling so cold. Then she saw a picture. It was of a woman. Dressed in clothes that looked eerily liked Emily Lewis was wearing in that shot. Only her head was a bouquet of flowers.

 

“Fuck.” Darya looked on speechless. The photograph started to spill blood and shake. Soon, she saw Lindsey’s head come on and get chopped off and also replaced with a bouquet. “Fuck!” she screamed as the picture changed and the blood seem to come on her hands.

 

When she looked around there was the long haired woman. She seemed to want to catch Darya for a while then stayed still, “Daryyya…” Darya was shocked. She looked like a Japanese Onryo. Without thinking she punched the ghostly lady on the face and she shrieked and the attic disappeared…

 

…She was back in front of her house in Cedar street. “What…?” she looked at the alley. The world didn’t seem cold or quiet. That haze of blue was gone. Night was cool and soothing. The alleyway looked empty. What just happened…?

 

Darya looked a bit frightened for a moment. She scrambled for her keys and then got inside her house.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this chapter to be a way that Stefano and Darya can start some sort of bonding. They aren't there yet at all. They need more interactions and stuff. And yup. Anima is around. Ooooo wonder what that means that Darya could that, huh? Anyways, I wanted this chapter to be a good study of the sort of growing dynamic between Darya and Stefano. Though you can see they are a bit at ease with each other. And, that helps a bit. Well, I hope I can update more quickly. But I can't make any promises. I have some stuff coming up in my life that I need to prep for. And, stuff with my job. Hopefully, see you guys soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Well more on Stefano on the next chapter! I wanted to capture him a bit before he started doing chaos in Union and wanted him to actually get some bearing with my OC. I will tell some stuff about Darya and what her issues are and stuff. Also more of the other canon characters as well. I guess I will chart some aspects on life in Union so that it actually feels like the world STEM built before it crashed down.


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